The Secret Land Of Tears
by Yulliah
Summary: What happens to a boy who loses his sight, his girlfriend and his best friend over the course of weeks?
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** _This is **not** a Slash fic. Not is it M-rated!_

__Thank you **theredrobin** for helping me out with this story! _If you haven't read her stories yet, go do so!_

**Disclaimer:**_The Fault In Our Stars belongs to John Green. I just wrote **this** story._

* * *

><p>The first time I found myself utterly lost for words, I was ten years old. My brain went into overdrive, trying to come up with a single noun, a single verb, fitting the situation. I drew a blank. My friend Amy was shaking, tears falling down her cheeks in bright crystalline drops. If only there was something I could do, something I could say to make her feel better, to soothe her. I just stood there, awkwardly gazing at her slumped form, hoping there would come an end to these seemingly endless tears.<p>

This wasn't the last time I would be dumbstruck when confronted with another person's pain. It is a feeling alien to me. I've never in my life felt a pain worthy of tears. I'm not talking about physical pain, not the bumps, or scratches, or broken bones, I've had those. No, I mean the deep emotional pain of loss, of real sorrow.

'Without pain, how could we know joy?' These words were meant as an encouragement to make sense of hurt, but have haunted me for years. They made me feel incomplete, insufficient. It feels like there is a humongous hole where my heart should be. I am painless, thus heartless.

I tried to fill the gap by reading. I searched, reading book after book, for that feeling, the one emotion that could make me whole. I am not sure if I succeeded in my quest. Have I now really experienced mourning? I have felt Haemon's cry rip through my chest, when he found his love, his Antigone, dead. I felt the heartbreak and sorrow, when the little mermaid dissolved into foam, not being able to save her life by killing her heart's true love. My heart broke for king Lear, as he entered with the lifeless body of his youngest daughter Cordelia in his arms. I cried when Carlson put down Candy's dog, because it was no longer productive and Candy could not bring himself to do it.

Why is it, that mourning over these fictional characters makes me feel so alive? Why do I feel the need to get to know them and then join them in their pain and suffering? Only to close the book in the end, leaving the sorrow inside and using it as a reference to measure my own life. 'Without pain, how could we know joy?' Is it fair then, to cheat the pain?

Still, I have not found a way to cure my incontrovertible muteness in the face of tears. Though I feel myself drawn towards people who are hurting, like a moth is drawn to a flame. As I was drawn to Isaac.

.o0O0o.

To tell the truth, the first time I met him would have been the last, if it hadn't been for him. In unknown social situations, I'm as blunt as a hammer, with the subtlety of a derailed freight train. I rarely meet people who are interested in getting to know me after 5 minutes of conversation.

Every Saturday afternoon I'd go to a cinema across town to watch art-house movies. It was a small venue, but I liked watching a movie in quiet solitude.

On this particular Saturday, they were showing a Spanish drama that I hadn't seen before. I was a little excited when I walked into the theater.

There he was, sitting in MY seat, my PERFECT seat. I always sat in the same exact seat, in the exact center of the theater. I would even reserve it, while there was no real reason for it, as there were usually less than 3 people at the Saturday afternoon showing.

The first thing I noticed about him were his sunglasses. Huge aviator sunglasses that stood crookedly on his straight stubborn nose. I found this weird, because the theater was almost dark. On top of that, it wasn't exactly a sunny day outside.

"Get up, you're in my chair," I said. He didn't respond or give any indication he heard me, so I nudged him with my knee.

"Are you deaf? You're in my seat!"

"I'm sorry, I didn't realize the seats were assigned," he answered. He didn't move a muscle though, he just sat there, gazing at the screen.

"The seat numbers are on the tickets, can't you read?" I exclaimed a second before I noticed the folded cane in his lap. He took off his sunglasses, revealing two fake blue eyes and turned to face me.

"Well, no, actually, I'm blind," he said and before I could stop myself, words tumbled from my mouth.

"You are aware this whole setup is to show moving pictures?"

He frowned and I bit my tongue. _Way to go girl, an excellent way to show off your amazing people skills! _While I was mentally berating myself, a broad smile took over his face, it was almost luminescent in the dimmed lightning of the theater.

"I think I like you," he said as he stared in my general direction. "I'm Isaac."

"That's all very well, but you're still in my seat," I replied, ignoring the hand he offered me.

With a deep sigh he raised from his chair and glided into the next, turning his head back towards the screen, so I sat down.

I looked at him coyly from the corner of my eyes, in a needless attempt to keep him from catching me staring. He wasn't very handsome, still I couldn't look away. He had a long and skinny face, with dark hair. I'm sure it was dyed, as his roots showing were blond. There was something about him, something that awoke my curiosity.

"My way is better," he said out of nowhere and his words confused me. I opened my mouth to ask him what he was talking about when he continued.

"I make up my own story as I listen to the movie. I don't speak Spanish, so I get to imagine what it is about. You should try it sometimes." The ridiculousness of his advise made me chuckle.

"Try what, being blind?" I asked.

"Yes, just poke out an eye or two and try it my way. You _could_ be less extreme and close them, of course, but where's the fun in that?" he said in an amused tone.

"Isobel," I said barely audible and he slightly turned his head.

"What?"

"Isobel," I repeated a little louder, "That's my name, Isobel Hayes."

"Well, I'm pleased to meet you, Isobel Hayes." I was taken aback by the sincerity in his voice. Hoping to find some insight into this boy, I stared at him, unable to figure him out. His eyes gazed unseeing into nothing.

The movie started and I closed my eyes. He was right, his way _was _better. I could hear the words, but not understand them. Though it was clear to me what the story was about. The emotion behind the words bled into my ears, touching my very core, forcing tears to stream down my cheeks.

When the movie was finished, I finally opened my eyes and I sighed deeply.

"You were right," I told Isaac as I wiped the tears from my eyes.

"I know right? This movie rocked!" he said excitedly. "Dead bodies, lots of blood, honor and self-sacrifice! How was your movie?" I was quiet for a while, he must not have heard what I heard. He must not have felt the emotion in the voices.

"It was beautiful, about love and heartache. No happy ending for the heroine." I answered. He sighed and restlessly tapped the floor with his foot.

"Did you peek? I know _I_ didn't cheat, but _you_ don't have a fail safe." I shook my head. He kept tapping and I realized my shaking head wasn't much of an answer to him.

"No," I simply answered.

"Girls," he smirked, "have no imagination, none whatsoever!"


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note:** _This is **not** a Slash fic. Not is it M-rated!_

_Thank you **theredrobin** for helping me out with this story! _If you haven't read her stories yet, go do so!__

**Disclaimer:**_The Fault In Our Stars belongs to John Green. I just wrote **this** story._

* * *

><p>In the following weeks I did not see him again. It seemed like it would be one of those random encounters with a total stranger. Still, I couldn't get myself to stop thinking about him.<p>

Seven Saturdays went by where I'd go into the cinema hoping he would be there, sitting in my seat. Each time I would be disappointed that he wasn't. Though I would pretend he was there, with closed eyes, just listening.

On the eighth Saturday after we met, on a gray and drizzly day, I had given up hope. I came out of the theater, having 'watched' another movie. The solitude I once enjoyed now made me feel lonely, without him.

I shook my head at the thought, trying to rid my mind of a boy, who had probably forgotten all about me.

I was a bit startled when a voice from behind me asked; "Did you miss me?"

I turned around and there he was, leaning against the wall just outside the doors.

"How did you know it was me?" I responded, utterly amazed. Well actually, I was more amazed that he was even there, waiting for me.

"I didn't, I asked the same question exactly 4 times now, each time the doors opened. I was beginning to think you weren't there." One corner of his mouth was raised in a half smile. It stirred something in my stomach.

"You didn't answer my question though, did you miss me?" he asked again. I almost said yes, but I didn't want to sound too eager.

"You must be either narcissistic, or masochistic, to be asking me this." I replied stoically.

"Well, Isobel Hayes," he said with a laugh, "which one is it?" It was unsettling, how he could make me feel so at ease and uncomfortable at the same time.

"I'll let you know when I find out," I said.

"And thus it begins," he whispered.

He pushed himself away from the wall and started towards the exit, using his cane to feel out his way.

"Are you coming?" he called over his shoulder and I followed him automatically.

A light but warm breeze hit my face as I stepped outside. Over the last two hours the rain had stopped to make way for the sun. The otherwise bland street was now radiating with color in the bright light.

"Where are we going?" I asked as I caught up with him.

"Are we ever really going anywhere?" he muttered to himself, before coming to an abrupt halt and turning towards me. His face seemed even paler away from the dimly lit theater, almost ashen against the bright blue of his eyes.

"Actually, I haven't got a clue. I wanted to take you out for coffee, but I don't really know the neighborhood," he said and for a moment his cocky attitude slipped. I caught a glance of an uncertain boy, before he quickly straightened his back and let a familiar smile spread across his face.

"Well, coffee sounds good, there's a place around the corner." I offered as I softly bumped his shoulder with mine.

.oO0Oo.

"How do you get around a place you don't know?" I asked him. We were seated at the window in a cozy coffee shop, two steamy untouched lattes on the table between us.

"I don't," he said as he grabbed his cup and absentmindedly moved it around. He intrigued me.

"Then how did you get to the cinema by yourself?"

"I didn't" he sighed. He seemed somewhat annoyed by my questions, but I wasn't going to let it go.

"This is like playing text based adventure games. I'm sure I'll get an answer if I find the right question." I said with a grin. Excitement washed over his face and he slightly leaned further towards me.

"You play games?" he asked me.

"Oh no, don't go changing the subject, mister! I was asking you about your more or less self sufficient means of navigation," I scolded, "and I'm not about to be brushed off before I get to the bottom of this mystery."

He sat back against his chair and sighed again.

"Fine!" he snarled as he pushed away his mug. "My mother drove me and she'll pick me up again when I call her. Are you _satisfied _now?" He said as he moved restlessly in his seat.

"Why are you so defensive about this?" I asked him, genuinely wanting to know.

"No one likes a helpless invalid," he said timidly and I stared down at my hands. After a short uncomfortable silence he coughed and slipped back into his confident mode.

"I'd like to keep some of the sexy adult male ruse in place," he said, humor apparent in his voice.

"Sexy male adult?" I smirked, "If that was the ruse you were using, you already failed horribly 2 months ago."

"What are you saying? Are you questioning my manhood?" he asked in mock surprise. I leaned back against my chair and chuckled.

"Or are you calling me a child? I may not be old enough to drink, but I _am _old enough to vote!" He pretended to feel insulted, but failed. Though the look on his face turned my chuckles to laughter, I was unable to hold it in.

"No! You mean to say I'm not wildly attractive? Are you trying to tell me my mother lied?" He was now practically shouting, making the few people there turn their faces towards us. I was laughing so hard my eyes filled with tears as I tried to speak.

"Oh God," I started, "Stop! I. Can't. Breathe."

Isaac tried to keep his face all serious and frowning, but within seconds he was roaring with laughter himself. Our mugs danced across the table as he hit it with his fist.

When we were finally able to catch our breaths, he leaned over, like he was planning on telling me a secret. "Isobel," he whispered, "this has to be the most fun I've had in years." At that moment I was very happy he couldn't see me, as I felt my cheeks flush scarlet.

"Your life must not be very interesting," I replied, immediately regretting my words. _You really need to get yourself one of those filters Iz! _I thought to myself, It was a miracle Isaac hadn't ran for the door.

"Your seemingly indifferent attitude to my suffering is illuminating, Isobel," he said.

"Well, you can count on my insensitivity," I promised, "always." He winced and bit his bottom lip.

"I don't believe you're actually insensitive," he said. I stared into my cup, not knowing what else to say, I was really not equipped for any form of conversation. What I wanted to ask, I had asked. Of course there was much more I wanted to know about him, but you can't just ask someone for their inner most secrets, even I knew that.

"So Isobel," he said, "tell me more about yourself." I nervously picked up my cup and took a sip. _Yuck, cold coffee. _

"There's not much to tell really," I started, "I'm 18 years old, I'll be going to college in the fall, still live with my parents and I read a lot." There really wasn't much to tell about me. I lived, but apart from that I was a hollow shell of a human being.

"Well, what do you enjoy? What makes your heart beat faster?" he asked. There was only a single answer in my head, only one thing, or rather one person, that made my heart beat faster. I had felt it when his voice caught up with me in the cinema. But I surely couldn't tell him that. I shrugged my shoulders.

"Nothing," I said in a callous tone. I was empty, heartless, emotionless. He was wrong, I _was_ insensitive.

I once looked up the definition of insensitivity, it said; 'Lacking feeling or tact.' Which in turn led me to look up the word tact. Tact meant; 'a keen sense of what to do or say in order to maintain good relations with others or avoid offense.' There was no real question about this to be honest. Of course I knew that the words passing my lips were not tactful in the least, but I had no idea what _would _be a tactful thing to say.

His voice pulled me out of my musings. "There can't be nothing you enjoy, that's just not possible," he said, but I didn't reply. It _was_ possible and I knew why. 'Without pain, how could we know joy?'

"Can I call you?" he asked and I nodded absentmindedly. "Isobel? Tell me you didn't walk out on me and that I'm not talking into thin air," he smirked and I let out a chuckle.

"No, Isaac, I'm still here and yes, you can call me," I replied, "Just hand me your phone, I'll type in my number."


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note:** _This is **not** a Slash fic. Not is it M-rated!_

_Thank you **theredrobin** for helping me out with this story! _If you haven't read her stories yet, go do so!__

**Disclaimer:**_The Fault In Our Stars belongs to John Green. I just wrote **this** story._

* * *

><p>He didn't call me on Sunday. I spent the entire day checking my phone for missed calls. Not that it was possible that I would have missed it, if he <em>had<em> called. I even stayed up late, God forbid I was asleep when he finally decided he wanted to talk to me.

.o0O0o.

Monday I took my phone to school, I never did, but an exception should be made for a boy you like. I checked for missed calls in between classes and I even sneaked off to the bathroom during Calculus. At dinner my mother ordered me to put it away. With reluctance I placed the phone on the kitchen counter, but still I couldn't help but stare at it while I ate as fast as I could. He didn't call me on Monday.

.o0O0o.

Tuesday went roughly the same. Though I got caught by my Geography teacher and he confiscated the phone. When I got it back after school, I quickly checked it, but I had no missed calls. I was aware that my behavior was less than unhealthy, so I decided to read a book. I picked one of my favorites, but even Bastian Balthazar Bux was not able to distract me. At 1 am, I gave up and got in bed, by then I thought it safe to say; 'He wouldn't call me on Tuesday.'

.o0O0o.

On Wednesday I finally decided to be a realist. I scared him off, he had only asked if he could call me to be able to part comfortably. That's what guys do don't they? I had read it in books, seen it on television and even heard girls in school talk about it. Guys would say 'I'll call you', only to be never heard from again. Though I thought that Isaac would be true about it. I don't think he would fool me like that. Maybe there was a good reason he hadn't called me, maybe I gave him the wrong number, maybe something happened to him, maybe he had an accident.

He didn't call me on Wednesday and that night I dreamed I was at a funeral. I woke up covered in sweat, tears on my cheeks. I quickly checked, but there were no missed calls.

.o0O0o.

Thursday I left my phone at home. There really was no point in taking it with me. I needed to forget about him. I thought about it and came to the conclusion that the only reason I was so obsessed with this boy, was because I had no friends. I needed to get out more, meet people, do stuff.

An ad on the school's bulletin board caught my attention. Ballet classes at a nearby school on Friday evenings. I wrote down the address and time on my hand and decided to try it out. I had dance classes when I was a little girl, but like with everything I wasn't very good at, I gave up. It was time for me to step up though, to get out of that hollow shell, to just work harder. It was time for me to live. If my meeting Isaac had taught me something, it was that even I could live a little.

.o0O0o.

That Friday evening, I entered the dance school with my heart in my throat. I had not thought this through thoroughly. I swallowed down hard and knocked on a door that said 'office'.

"Yes?" a voice called and I opened the door just a little.

"Hallo?" I said and saw a woman sitting behind the desk, dressed in spandex leggings and a wide T-shirt. "I'm here for the ballet class?" I was nervously fumbling with the zipper of my sports bag. "I found the ad on the bulletin board in school."

"Ah yes, I'm Jesse, I teach the class," she extended her hand and I quickly took it.

"Isobel," I said in a tiny voice.

"Welcome, Isobel. The locker room is around the corner to the right, first door to the left. You can change there. We dance in room 6, just down the hall from there," she said and let go of my hand.

There were already a bunch of girls in the locker room, but no one acknowledged me coming in. I kept my head low and changed quickly. They were all excitedly talking with one another, about school, boys, clothes, music and movies. I wouldn't make friends from the sidelines, so straightened my back and tried to be brave.

"I like books." I said, a little louder than necessary. To be honest, I almost shouted. They all turned their heads towards me and looked at me incredulously. I felt my cheeks flush and looked at my feet. I heard someone chuckle and a second later they were back to talking to each other. _So far, not so good Iz. _I thought and quietly left in search of room 6.

The class was great. I was actually a lot better than I remembered and lost myself in the music and the movement. Though the other girls did not warm up to me in the slightest. I tried a couple more times, each time resulting in an uncomfortable silence. Maybe I tried to hard though, that's what my dad always told me; 'Isobel, just relax and be yourself, you don't have to work so hard.' Well, what he didn't know, was that there wasn't much of me. My _self_ was utterly boring.

When I came home that evening, I was dead tired. I basically just stripped and collapsed on the bed, not bothering with a shower. I fell into a deep dreamless sleep that extended into the early afternoon on Saturday.

.o0O0o.

I woke up to bright sunlight streaming through my open curtains. Wanting to know what time it was, I gazed at the clock. The sun was shining directly on the reflective glass though and I couldn't see it's little hands. I reached for the phone on my nightstand and flicked it open.

Within a second I shot up in my bed, suddenly wide awake. My heart beat heavily in my chest. I had thirteen missed calls and a text message:

**Isobel? I'll be at the cinema**

**at noon tomorrow, hope you'll**

**be there. Isaac**

It was now a quarter to 1, I had already missed him. I quickly hit the tiny buttons on my phone and answered his text:

**Hey, I just woke up, I'm sorry.**

I hit 'send' and fell back against the pillows. I had given up too early, if I'd have kept my phone on me, I wouldn't have missed those calls. _Thirteen_ calls!

As I was speculating what it meant that he called me thirteen times, the phone vibrated in my hand. He was calling me, so I quickly answered.

"Isobel?" he asked before I could say a word. "I'm really glad you picked up this time."

"Uhm, hi, yes," I stumbled, "I'm sorry I'm not there."

"Forget about it! I would like to meet you today, if you want to," he said, "Would you like to come over to my place? I'd meet you somewhere, but my mom ha-"

"Yes!" I answered a little overly enthusiastic and I heard him chuckle.

"Great! I'll send my address to my phone. Than you can explain why you didn't answer any of my calls." The laugh that followed sent a warm buzz through my abdomen.

"Riiiiiight," I replied, "and you get to tell my why you waited so long to call me."

"Touché," he said_, "_if you get here around 6, you can join us for dinner."

"Mkay, I'll see you at 6," I said with a smile on my face.

"Good! I will not see you then," he said, before he hung up. I jumped excitedly, feeling like a squealing schoolgirl. Of course I was a squealing schoolgirl.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note:** _This is **not** a Slash fic. Not is it M-rated!_

_Thank you **theredrobin** for helping me out with this story! _If you haven't read her stories yet, go do so!__

**Disclaimer:**_The Fault In Our Stars belongs to John Green. I just wrote **this** story._

* * *

><p>I arrived at his house ten minutes early. Before I could ring the doorbell, a young woman opened the door. "You must be Isobel, I'm Ruth, Isaac's mother," she said and beckoned me in. "Come on in, Isaac is in the living room." She smiled at me as I passed her, she looked really young. I wondered how old she had been when she had Isaac.<p>

I could hear loud voices before I went into the living room, one of which was Isaac's.

"I'm telling you, Graham, you will NOT kill the hostage!" Isaac said, his voice raised, "We need him in the next chapter, okay?"

I saw Isaac sitting on the couch. Next to him was a scrawny boy, about 13 years old maybe.

"Fine!" the boy shouted.

"Unpause," Isaac said.

"KILL THE HOSTAGE!" the boy screamed and a voice from the television speakers asked;

_'___Are you sure you want to kill the hostage?'__

"NO!" Isaac said, "pause."

He turned his body towards Graham and lunged at him. Of course he couldn't see the boy, so he only hit air. Graham shot up and stuck out his tongue.

"Ha ha! Catch me if you can, Isaac!" he shouted and ran out of the room.

"I'm going to kick your ass, you little rat!" Isaac yelled, but Graham was long gone.

"He isn't here any more," I said and sat down on the couch.

"Isobel Hayes, how lovely to not see you," he replied and reached for the remote control. "End program."

'_Ending the program without saving, will cause you to lose all progress. Do you wish to end the program?' _the voice from the speakers asked.

"Yes," Isaac answered.

_'__Ending program.'_

Isaac turned off the television and turned to me.

"That," he said, pointing his thumb over his shoulder, "was my little brother, Graham. He tries his best to make my life as hard as possible."

"Why?" I asked.

"Obviously, he can't fathom the fact that I'm the favorite son," he answered with a smirk.

"Don't believe a single word he says, Isobel, Graham adores his brother!" Ruth called from the kitchen.

"Mom! Please!" Isaac yelled, "I'm trying to have a private conversation over here with a-" He stopped mid sentence and whispered to me; "Quick, I forgot to ask you, are you breathtakingly beautiful?"

"Idon'tthinkI'mquallifiedtoanswerthat," I replied unintelligible, my cheeks flushing red.

"Mom, is Isobel pretty?" he called out over his shoulder. Ruth entered the living room.

"She's gorgeous, honey. Prettier than you are," she said, winking at me.

"Excellent!" he said, "Now where was I? Yes, I'm trying to have a private conversation with an aesthetically pleasing woman." Ruth rolled her eyes and threw up her hands, backing into the hallway.

"All right," she said as she was leaving the room, "I'll give you two some privacy, but dinner is in 10 minutes!"

"Aesthetically pleasing?" I asked with a frown on my face, "Seriously? You couldn't just say 'pretty'?" Isaac shrugged his shoulders and smiled.

"Isn't it obvious?" he said, "I'm trying to impress you with my extensive vocabulary."

"He always speaks like that," Ruth called from the kitchen, "He thinks it makes him seem sophisticated."

"Mom!" Isaac yelled again.

"Oh save it, Isaac. Dinner is ready," she called, immediately followed by a much louder; "GRAHAM! DINNER!" I smiled, life at Isaac's house was definitely interesting.

Together we went into the kitchen and sat down at the large family table. Isaac sat down next to his mother and I sat down next to Graham, who was eying me with interest.

On the table stood a huge stack of delicious smelling pancakes. Ruth started filling plates and handing them out. Isaac leaned towards me and said in a hushed voice; "She's a really pitiful cook, but her pancakes, they are scrumptious!"

"Isaac!" Ruth exclaimed, "My cooking is not that bad!" She placed a few pancakes on a plate and passed it to me. I covered them generously with syrup and dug in.

"Yes it is," Isaac chuckled, "Graham, tell her how bad her cooking is!" I was quietly enjoying the dinner table conversation. Looking from one person to the other, I took the water jug and poured myself a glass. Graham was still looking at me curiously, it made me feel a bit uncomfortable.

"Graham!" Isaac yelled, causing the boy to look up at his brother.

"What?" he asked.

"Tell her!" Isaac answered. An Graham threw me a confused look before turning back to Isaac.

"Tell whom what?" he asked. Isaac shook his head, sighed deeply and took a bite of his pancakes. Graham opened his mouth to say something, but didn't. He seemed to be thinking something over very hard. After a minute or two he opened his mouth again. I watched him intently as I raised my glass to my mouth.

"Isaac, is Isobel your new girlfriend?" he asked in a whiny voice. I snorted water out through my nose and squeaked. All heads at the table turned to me. Isaac was grinning a little too smug for my taste.

"Graham, mind your own business!" he said and took another mouthful of pancakes.

"So Isobel," Ruth asked, "Are you still in school?"

The rest of the conversation flowed freely. Ruth had a talent for making me feel more at ease. She asked me about school, my parents and my new found hobby, dancing. Isaac was mostly grinning at me, while Graham kept on staring.

After I thanked Ruth for the lovely pancakes I asked if she needed help cleaning up.

"Oh, goodness, Isaac, how could you?" I was confused. How could Isaac do what? He himself seemed equally perplexed.

"What did _I_ do?" he asked.

"You brought this well raised, wonderful young woman _here!_ You should be ashamed of yourself! She'll be ruined before the night is over!" she called and held the back of her hand against her forehead. I couldn't help but laugh.

Isaac covered his face with his hands and mumbled; "You're crazy, you know that, mom?" He stood up and offered me his hand. "Come on, Isobel, let's go for a walk." I quickly slid my hand into his and led him to the door.

.o0O0o.

It was getting dark when we got outside. The sun was still setting in the west, making the horizon glow orange and red. Though high above us the moon and the brightest of stars were clearly visible.

We walked, side by side, shoulders touching, but not speaking. It was very quiet outside, most people were inside their homes. Apart from some distant traffic noises, the only sounds I could hear were from our feet and Isaac's cane. We passed the park.

"Shall we sit down somewhere?" Isaac asked.

"Sure," I answered and led him to a nice patch of grass. We sat down and Isaac lay back with his hands behind his head. I leaned back on one hand and looked down at him.

There were so many things I wanted to ask him, but I was afraid. Afraid of the answers, afraid of rejection. I just kept silent.

"Isobel?" his voice sounded hesitant. "Do you believe in true love?" He turned his head towards me, waiting for my answer. I didn't know. What does it really mean, true love? Did I believe that there was one other, one soul mate in this world, who was exactly right for me? No. I didn't know what I believed exactly, but I did believe that love existed.

"I don't know, do you?" I replied.

"I do," he said, "I believe in true love. I believe it to be cruel and painful. It's hard and uncaring. If you let it, it will devour you whole." His voice was harsh, his brow setting into a frown. I had no idea how to respond to that. The silence stretched out between us again.

After staring at the hard lines of his face for a while, I gazed at the setting sun.

"What happened to you, Isaac?" I asked. He let out a deep sigh. He reached for his wallet and pulled out a folded piece of paper and gave it to me.

"I was fine, great actually." he said, sitting up and crossing his legs. "Everything was just perfect. Well, I only had one eye, but still. I had a girlfriend, Monica, that's her car and house in the picture. I loved her, I really did. The other guy in the picture is Augustus, my best friend."

I unfolded the paper and looked at the grainy picture. It was crumpled and the folds were clearly breaking. I saw a blond Isaac, sunglasses crookedly on his nose. Next to him a brown haired boy, with a cigarette in his mouth. The boy was holding a pink egg carton over his head, one arm around Isaac's shoulder. They had obviously just egged the green car behind them and Isaac was smiling widely. Nothing like the smiles I had seen from him. This one looked, well, real.

"When you hear the cancer that took your eye is back and they have to take out your other eye, you want you girlfriend to support you, you know? Well, Monica dumped me. Guess being with a blind guy wasn't her idea of love. Now Gus, he-" Isaac stopped talking and when I looked back at him, I saw him wipe a tear from his face.

"Gus was with this girl, Hazel. They really truly loved each other. But then he died, shortly after that picture was taken. He just died on her. You can't just do that, you don't just leave people behind like that." His voice was breaking. His slumped shoulders were hanging heavily, while he plucked at the grass. I wanted to comfort him, to throw my arms around him and hold him, but I didn't.

"Two years ago, Hazel died as well. The cancer finally won the battle with her meds. I asked her, if it was worth it and she said it was. But I can't help but wonder, if they hadn't met, would they really have missed anything?" He angrily threw away a handful of grass. "Or is love really just a way of the universe spitting in our faces?"

I reached out and lay my hand on his shoulder. He leaned slightly in to it and turned his face towards me. When he lay his own hand on top of mine, I found my courage.

"I don't think love is like that. I think your friends were really unfortunate, but love isn't like that for everyone. Some people do get their happily ever afters." With those words I leaned in and kissed him softly on his lips.

He roughly jerked away from me.

"Wha-," he started, "Isobel, what are you doing?" My chest tightened, making it harder to breathe. My throat felt thick and swollen. Tears were slightly forming in my eyes.

"I-I'm sorry, I thought-" I tried, but he caught me off.

"Well, you thought wrong!" he yelled, "I don't want another girlfriend, I wanted a friend."

I jumped up, shocked by his sudden hostility. I backed up a few paces and ran my hand through my hair.

"Isaac, I didn't mean-" my voice broke and I ran. I wanted to go, away from Isaac, away from this pain in my heart.

"Wait! I'm sorry!" Isaac called after me, "Isobel!" I didn't stop though, I ran straight to his house. The front door opened and Ruth came out, a worried expression on her face as she saw the tears running down my cheeks.

"He's at the park," I told her, "I-I h-have to go now!"

With that I unlocked the car, started the engine and backed out of the driveway. I didn't look back as I drove off into the starry night.


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note:** _This is **not** a Slash fic. Not is it M-rated!_

_Thank you **theredrobin** for helping me out with this story! _If you haven't read her stories yet, go do so!__

**Disclaimer:**_The Fault In Our Stars belongs to John Green. I just wrote **this** story._

* * *

><p>I never knew that days stretched out into seemingly endless pockets of time when you were sad. The empty shell was cracked. Reading about pain and suffering was nothing compared to this.<p>

My father tried to comfort me, while I lay crying on my bed.

"Isobel, honey, this isn't the end of the world, you know? He's not the only fish in the sea. And frankly, he doesn't know what he's missing," he said. I didn't respond.

"It's such a secret place, the land of tears," he said, in the words of Antoine de Saint-Exupéry. This managed to draw a slight smile from me. He used to read the Little Prince to me when I was a child.

"Dad?" I asked, "does this feeling ever go away?" He pulled me into a hug.

"Oh, baby girl, yes, it goes away. You will feel happy again," he promised me. I buried my face against his shoulder and cried.

.o0O0o.

Isaac called me once every hour of every day, for the next three weeks. I refused to pick up, though I listened to the voice mails each night. He asked me to come by, or to call him. Saying he didn't mean to upset me. I didn't call him though, I wanted him to be in love with me, like I was in love with him. He just wanted a friend.

In the last voice mail he left, he said he wished it had been different. He wished he could be something he was not. I was clueless to what he meant by that.

.o0O0o.

One of the few things that helped me get my mind off Isaac, was my dancing class. When I got out of class that Thursday, Isaac was leaning against the wall. I ignored him. Just before I managed to slip away, Jesse stopped me.

"Isobel," she said, "I wanted to ask you if you would be interested in switching classes. I think my more advanced class would be better suited for you. You already have a basis, you would only need a few private lessons to catch up." I smiled at her.

"I don't know, can I think about it? I'd also have to ask my dad first. Is it okay if I let you know next week?" I asked. Jesse placed a hand on my shoulder and gave a little squeeze.

"That's fine, Isobel, I hope you will though. I can see you enjoy dancing," she said, "I'll see you next week."

After she walked away, I opened the door to the locker room.

"Isobel?" Isaac's voice sounded really close, so I turned around. He held out his hand, but I didn't take it.

"What do you want, Isaac?" I asked him.

"Can we talk?" he asked.

"Why?"

"Because I want to, I don't want to lose your friendship." he said.

"Well, I don't want another friend," I snapped. He visibly recoiled from my words. I immediately regretted them and bit my tongue.

"I'm sorry, okay?" he said, frustration apparent in his voice. "I like you, a lot. But I just don't want a girlfriend. I'm done with love, completely and irrefutably through." I sighed, tears were welling up in my eyes again.

"I'm sorry, Isaac, that's just not good enough," I whispered, before I opened the door and disappeared into the locker room.

I sat down on the bench, my head in my hands, and let the tears flow. I knew Isaac had known loss, a deep and painful loss, that I had no hopes of comprehending. I had no right to even think I could understand the depth of his fears. But that's just what they were, fears.

Unless I found a way to get through to him, he would never realize what he was doing to himself. That by refusing to let someone in, he was refusing to live. Like me, he had only been a shell.

I quickly changed and rushed outside. He was there, sitting on a bench, waiting for me. It was dark outside, but the street light illuminated his pale face.

"Isaac," I started, but I had no idea what I could say to make him change his mind. Once again I was lost for words. Instead I took his hand and stroked my thumb over the hard knuckles.

"Don't," he said, and I pulled away my hand.

"No, wait!" he said, "That's not what I was going to say. Don't hate me, please? I just want you to be my friend and hang out, you know?"

"I _don't_ know, Isaac," I replied, "all I know is that you don't want to let anyone close to you. I have an idea why, but I don't _know_. No, your life wasn't all hugs and puppies and I haven't got the faintest idea what it's been like for you. But you've got to stop living a half life!"

"Oh, that's rich, coming from you! I like to think I at least earned the right to live the way I do, losing my sight and all," he replied sarcastically. He had a point of course. I had been avoiding life. That is, until I met him. But I woke up and I was doing something about it.

"No you didn't! Can't you see that you are not that miserable? Your mother would do anything for you! She loves you and she's not the only one!" I yelled angrily. He laughed at me.

"I can't see anything, remember? I'm blind!" he threw back at me. His words angered me even more. It was the lamest excuse I ever heard.

"Yes, so?" I asked.

"I'M BLIND!" he shouted in frustration. I shrugged my shoulders, suddenly tired of this argument.

"Being blind impairs your ability to see with your eyes, Isaac, it does not excuse you from seeing with your heart and mind." I said barely audible as I sat down next to him. "You're missing so much, because you refuse to give life a chance." Isaac sighed and shook his head.

"Here," I said, grabbing his hand and pulling him up, "Just let go and feel." I slid my arm around his waist and danced with him. Silently asking him to follow me with my movements. The dance became easier and more fluent as Isaac started to feel instead of think. We danced until he stopped moving and sighed deeply.

"I just don't want to get hurt like that anymore," he said, "Why? Why? Why would you even want me? I'm just a burden. Monica thought so. My father thought so. Everyone leaves in the end, Isobel. I just get left behind."

My heart broke for him and I pulled him into a tight hug. "If you could, would you go back and choose to not meet Augustus?" I asked. He pulled slightly away from me.

"No, of course not! He was my best friend!" he said.

"Isn't that a kind of love? Is it really so hard to believe that true love, as you call it, is worth the pain?"

Isaac was silent for a long while, lost deep within his thoughts. I watched his face, hoping he'd come to the same conclusion I had. That while pain is a necessary part of life, joy is the part that's worth living for.

After what seemed like an eternity, a smile spread across his face. Not a polite one, a real, genuine smile. A smile like the one on the picture of him and Augustus.

"Isobel Hayes, you are a genius!" he said.

And then he leaned in and kissed me.


End file.
